


Amnesia

by AmunetMana, TheGoldenAppleofAsgard



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:29:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmunetMana/pseuds/AmunetMana, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGoldenAppleofAsgard/pseuds/TheGoldenAppleofAsgard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pitch finds an amnesiac Jack, and takes advantage.</p><p>Knowing Pitch only as the one who saved him when he didn't know who he was, Jack falls deeper under Pitch's control with every day.</p><p>Originally a prompt on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written by ShineRazorEyes (TheGoldenAppleofAsgard), prompted by me~

He would deny that he’d been keeping tabs on the youngest Guardian. Deny it with every breath in his body had he anyone but himself to deny it to. Jack was nomadic by nature and it was too exhausting to follow him that way so soon after a defeat at the hands of the Happy-go-lucky brigade and so the Shadowmancer contented himself with watching the spring of lights flourish over the Hollow Globe as Jack made his rounds, flitting from country to country like an oversized Tooth Fairy, delivering his namesake to every continent as was routine, but when the crisp cut of frost came back to Burgess, Pitch was always there, lingering in the thin tree-line surrounding the lake, awaiting the Frost Sprite’s return to his beginning. And he did not come back empty-handed this time.

Rolling over his palms was a more than familiar cylindrical box, golden and ornate, and Jack, eyes alight with cautious curiosity, was stroking his fingers over the pearl inlay as he touched down to the now icy surface of the lake. Pitch wasn’t entirely certain what happened after that, the slender body of the winter spirit wilting into some kind of trance before he seized up and collapsed, his body, or heaven forbid, his head cracking against the thick ice with a sound like a coconut smashed against a rock.

The memory box rolled out of his hand to glimmer on the ice and as Pitch dared venture closer, he swept the item up to stow into his shadow pocket without a second thought. At least if nothing good came of this, he would have a bartering chip for when the little upstart awoke.

There was no blood. That was, for some reason, a small relief and Pitch paused to analyse it for a short moment, unsure of where such a feeling of good will could come from when he so obviously harboured a grudge against the one person that had tipped the balance out of his favour in their last match.

A slurred groan slipped out of open lips as Jack stirred and Pitch had a moment of panic, well aware of how outmatched he was in his current condition against Jack but it was too late as thick lashes fluttered open and Jack stared up at the sky, eyes turning quickly to the tall shadowed figure lurking to his left.

Pitch had expected defensive words, a pre-emptive strike or even the slice of those cold eyes as they rejected him once again. He did not expect the younger spirit to scoot back on his ass over the ice, kicking his feet like a fledgling spirit and eyes wide in terror, forgoing the lunge to his staff as if he weren’t aware it was within reach at all to defend himself.

“Who are you?” And wasn’t that just a lovely flavour of fear in the air? Pitch stepped forward, contemplating the speed in which Jack responded like a frightened rabbit, shuffling back until the bank of fresh snow at his back halted his progress and Pitch passed the neglected staff as though it were mere kindling. He could always use it to subdue the boy later should this not proceed as newly planned.

“The question is, dear boy, who are _you_?” And the way that face spilled out emotion as if it were an open book to be read, the way Jack’s mouth slackened in horror, his hands hovering in the air indecisively, not know what to do as panic chased across his features in wave after wave after wave. Pitch soaked it all in as a balm against his current weakness, the fear so profound it lit fires in his chest.

“Oh god, I don’t know! How- How can I NOT KNOW?” And he flinched as ashen hands came down to cup around his jaw, fingers long enough to thread into his hair and Jack was so small under his touch that he looked thin enough to break under the slightest pressure, eyes wide and glassy like marbles, tear-brimmed and bright blue in the chalky pallor of his face, “Please…”

Pitch lifted him like he was the lightest of clouds, gathered into hands that could cradle such an ephemeral thing without harm to it and to his surprise, Jack was eager to curl up into him like he had nothing else and the taste of bitterness in the back of the Shadowmancer’s mouth gave way to the flood of cruel victory that swelled like the sea inside of him. This was what he had wanted. This was what he had been refused in Antarctica.

He soothed his hands over the back of the boys frosted hoodie, hushing the hitching sobs that wracked the slender frame in circular motions that were oddly familiar to him though he cared not to dig up why and Jack clung with both fists clenched into the back of his robe as he stood, wrapping the frost sprite in his arms so tightly he could hear the soft sobs from the younger’s mouth strain from the force of the grip but no matter. Jack did not protest, nuzzling his face into the shoulder his head lay against as Pitch muttered soft hushing noises into his ear, “It’s alright now…”

“I can’t remember. I c-can’t…” His voice was hoarse from choking back tears and Pitch gazed up at the over-fat crescent of the Moon hanging low in the sky, gracing it with a smug smile as it seemed to shiver in a bright throb of anger. He did not doubt that Manny would send his hounds after the both of them, but so long as he kept Jack in the dark, no sliver of light could snatch him away. The thought was a bubble of malicious glee that tasted like honey as he pressed his face into the winter spirit’s hair and inhaled the scent of pine and hoarfrost, “It’s alright, Jokul.”

The Lair spread a wide maw into the ground before him, the wooden bed-frame scattered in splinters around it and Jack gave a muffled whimper into his shoulder as he turned his gaze into the Shadowmancer’s neck. Pitch did not even bother to gift Tsar Lunar with another look as he slipped down into the shadows carrying his precious prize, the crooked staff of Jack Frost left to glimmer under the moonlight on the frozen lake, “Everything will be alright.”


	2. Chapter 2

It had been three hours and yet no Guardians had come gallivanting into his Lair uninvited. No buzz of wings disturbed the air, no crack of exploding eggs on stone and no mighty bellow as the chime of metal blades sliced through the thick silence and Pitch could honestly say he had expected a more enthusiastic rescue party but he did not mind either way. If they thought they could sneak up on him they had another thing coming.

Jack had not yet picked himself up from the throne he had been set upon in the lower levels of the Globe Room where the masses of tooth boxes had lain before they had been forcibly removed soon after his confinement. He made no sound but for the softest whine of complaint when the Shadowmancer moved out of his sight and Pitch was sorely tempted to test this new reliance. Jack was obviously confused, searching out the memories inside of his own head and the spikes of fear that flavoured the air told him all he needed to know without the winter spirit ever having to speak a word.

The way he imagined it, Jack could see them as if they were books on a shelf and yet, every time he reached out to pick one, it would collapse into dust; sift through his fingers into the shadows of ghosts. The growing frustration made the frost sprite shiver where he was curled up and Pitch stroked a hand over the boy’s shock of white hair, purring soundly at the way he arched up to press into the touch. Would that he had the time to properly mould the boy into the perfect prince, but he doubted the Guardians would allow him that and so he weaned his entertainment from the trembling spirit the easiest way he knew how.

Jack lurched upright in the throne as the hand atop his head disappeared, and he whirled around on thin knees, air racing free of his lungs before he could finish breathing it in, hands clamping so tightly to the stone carvings that he missed the way frost danced over the throne beneath his touch.

“Come back,” Even though his voice was so small in the vaulted caverns, it echoed as if it were a shout and Jack flinched against the noise, toppling from the seat to roll awkwardly with a pained grunt down the stone steps, cradling his arms to his chest to stop the ache as he curled up into a ball. Somehow, he recognised this feeling. There was a hollow space in his chest that remembered the way it hurt to feel so alone, to have nothing and no one and he wanted to call out again but he didn’t know the kind person’s name and he felt so stupid for not asking. A muffled sob broke free of him without permission and when warm arms encircled him, lifting him up from the ground so gently, he tried so hard not to cry out with his relief.

“What are you doing on the floor, Jokul? Did you fall?” And the voice was so caring, so kind that he wanted to sink into it and never let go. The kind stranger made his way back to the throne, the frost spirit wrapped up so carefully in his arms that he had no fear of falling, and when he was settled comfortably into a supportive lap as the elder sat down, he clung to his chest and held his breath to keep the soft sobs at bay.

“Never fear, precious one,” And the tone was ever so slightly off, just enough to make him look up and Jack was struck by the scornful tint to the smile on the strangers ashen face. It did not linger long, the expression so genuine when he looked again he’d thought he’d imagined it, and as soft lips brushed over his forehead in so soothing a motion he felt compelled to lean into the touch, he did not fight the urge as it arose, “I am here for you now.”


End file.
